


The Trouble With Onions

by heathered



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-08
Updated: 2009-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathered/pseuds/heathered
Summary: She usually lets him do the cooking.





	The Trouble With Onions

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

She usually lets him do the cooking. Not really the domestic type, Ang.  
  
Probably should have taken that into account, he thinks now as he listens to her puttering around the kitchen. Anticipated it before he opened his mouth and probably messed things up pretty badly. And to think, he's always fancied himself to have quite a way with words. Rarely fails to make her smile, in any case.   
  
Well. Except for this one time, of course, when a smile would've been really, _really_ nice.   
  
_I -- could I just have a moment?_ was her only response if you don't factor in the full minute of silence that preceded it, and neither was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.  
  
Exiled to the sitting room and trying not to pace, he takes out his wand, pointing it distractedly toward the coffee table where he's left one of his many ongoing projects -- in this case a variation on the Extendable Ear, one with remote capabilities. He picks up the ear, tinkers at it with restless hands. Its mate is downstairs in the lab next to the wireless, but he hears nothing when he lifts the ear to his own. So far, the range is only a few feet.   
  
Bit difficult to concentrate on listening devices at the moment, though, not when he's trying to work out what exactly he did wrong. True, he could've put it a bit more eloquently, but they don't really _do_ eloquent; it's one of the things he loves about her. Still, maybe every girl wants eloquence at a time like this. Even Ang.  
  
Before he knows it, he's pacing after all, and that definitely won't do. He plops the extendable ear back down onto the table and heads for the door. At the very least, he's going to find out what's wrong, and why she's kicked him out of his own damn kitchen.  
  
He lets the door swing shut behind him as he sees her standing with her back to him, chopping something at the counter. At least, she's holding a knife against the cutting board, even if she's not actively chopping anything.   
  
"So, how was your moment? Good?" If he sounds a bit agitated, a little anxious, he can't bloody well help it.  
  
"Fine," Angelina squeaks, and he thinks he can hear her breath hitch.   
  
Wait. Was that a sniffle?  
  
"Ang, are you alright?"  
  
When he crosses the room and joins her at the counter, she gives him a watery smile and waves her hand. "Fine; yeah -- it's just the onions."  
  
"You sure? Because it looks like --"  
  
"It's the onions, George." She looks flustered and kind-of adorable as she clears her throat and wields the knife again, chopping. "Almost done, though. Can you grab some plates?"  
  
He's not thinking about food at the moment, though, not when she's crying -- she _never_ cries -- and of course, not when she has yet to answer him.  
  
"I know I blurted it out," he begins. "But I meant it, every word. True, I joke around a lot; these days you'd know that better than anyone. You were the first one to really make me smile -- _really_ smile -- since it happened, you know? I’d probably still be holed up in my bedroom if you’d not given me the kick in the arse I needed. But, see, I wouldn't joke about something like this." He pauses, tilts his head. "Well, I might, but I'd still mean it. I do mean it. Doesn't mean you have to answer right away of course, but blimey, Ang, don't cry."  
  
"Yes.”  
  
“…And really, I just needed to get it out. Life’s just way too short, you know? No use holding it in.”  
  
Angelina holds up a hand, shakes her head and turns to face him, squarely. “George. Yes.”  
  
Blinking, George runs a hand through his shaggy hair and thinks he can feel his heart settle back into place. “Yes?”  
  
“You heard me, Weasley.”  
  
He lets out a howl of laughter and kisses her hard on the mouth. “Well fuck, woman, what was with the suspense?”  
  
“I told you, I just needed a moment.” She’s smiling now, gesturing to the onions.   
  
George raises a brow and traps her against the counter. “Oh,” he draws the word out, giving it three distinct syllables as a grin spreads over his face. “Could it be that our Angelina has a soft side?”  
  
“No,” Angelina punches his shoulder. “Those onions can be brutal, you know.”  
  
“Right,” George tucks his tongue firmly into his cheek. “The onions.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
 **end**


End file.
